


The Distance is Far When One is Small

by Officer_Jennie



Series: MadaTobi Week [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Experiment gone wrong, Kitty!Tobirama, M/M, Pre-Konoha Village, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Tobirama finds himself waking up in a body that is not his own.MTW Day 6 - Feral





	1. Chapter 1

From the moment Tobirama woke up, he knew it had gone horribly wrong.

The trees loomed miles above him, wood giants that stretched into the sky and left the ground dark around them. All the colors of the forest (the greens, the yellows and reds, the blues and purples and and oranges) were muted, more grey than anything else, as if a shadow darkened his sight. His entire body screamed and ached in pain, in protest of the _wrong wrong wrong_ that had taken over him.

Struggling to his feet took precious time and left him panting. His teeth bared instinctively at how frail he felt, legs shaking like a newborn fawn’s, hardly able to support him long enough to drag himself towards the more dense brush.

He blacked out the moment he was under cover. There was no way for him to tell how long he’d been out - a day, several perhaps. All he knew was that it was morning, too loud birds tittering overhead, hurting his ears as he came to.

His body still ached, but stretching helped. Fumbling about the first time he woke up made it a bit easier to figure out how to get up this time, though he still would have been beyond embarrassed if anyone saw him in such a pitiful state.

‘The White Demon’ many called him. His ears twitched, and he shook his head at the odd feel of the movement. At least Touka wasn’t here to lord the mistake over him as he knew she would.

It felt wrong to leave the bushes behind, but he had to check on his pack. All his instincts screamed for him to tread with care - unfamiliar territory, new smells, loud sounds, too much, _too much too much_ \- but he forced himself to walk normally and to not dither about.

At least, he _assumed_ that how he was walking was ‘normal’.

His pack was undisturbed, all his scrolls and parchment still stuffed inside. But the jutsu he’d been working on had not survived. He searched the small clearing as best he could but the parchment and brushes were all lost to the wind and woods, his current body the only evidence left of it.

What was supposed to be a frustrated puff of air came out as a low growl, his ears flattening against his head. It would all have to be left behind for now. Dragging around a pack over three times his size would leave him open to trouble, and there was no telling how long it’d take to reach the Senju compound even without it.

Normally, he would have stuck to the treetops when traveling here, to leave as little trail as possible for anyone to follow. He stared up at one oak that loomed above him, nose twitching as his whiskers brushed against the rough bark.

Climbing it probably wouldn’t be the issue. He flexed his paws, digging into the dirt and moss with his curved claws, tilting his head this way and that to study the surrounding oaks as well. The distance between them would be a bit too far to leap without chakra to aid him.

He had to ignore the feeling of _empty_ at that thought, turning and padding his way back into the dense undergrowth to try to slink home.

It mustn’t have been but a couple of miles before he gave up walking, all but falling to his side and hissing in pain. He brought one of his front paws to his mouth, instinctively licking at the blood on his soft pink pads, flinching at how rough his own tongue was but unable to stop anyway. All of his paws ached and throbbed, and he was almost certain a thorn had gotten stuck in one of them as well.

This couldn’t be normal. Sure, he’d only had passing experiences with a handful of domestic cats but they’d all seemed to be walking around just fine. No species could last long if they couldn’t move about the earth without extreme pain from doing so.

Well. Plants and some aquatic animals aside, anyway.

A large bird cry overhead had him shrinking back, his fur pushing against the rough bark of a pine. Whatever it was wouldn’t have made him glance twice normally but now he shivered, the first prickles of fear making his fur stand on end.

He needed to get back home. Hashirama might be able to help if he could find a way to communicate with the idiot. He curled around himself after a minute of silence, his tail brushing against his nose. It helped feel a touch safer, curling into such a small ball, but only barely, enough to let him drift in and out of consciousness for a few hours as the forest life went on around him.

It wasn’t quite dusk when something woke him again. The ache in his paws had dulled so he dared to stretch his legs, yawning as his claws dug a bit into the soft moss he’d been laying on.

Any particular noise hadn’t woken him as far as he could tell. His ears flicked back and forth, finding the forest too quiet around him for that to be the case. No birds, no insects, no voices.

He crept away from his hiding spot, sticking to the shadows, sniffing the air as he went. Something had his fur on end though he couldn’t name it, his belly sinking lower to the ground as he all but crawled in the underbrush beneath the trees.

Eventually, he did hear something. It was too soft to recognize at first but he headed towards the noise still - his pace picking up once he recognized the sound.

Crying. Someone was crying. Someone small, though it wasn’t the wailing of a frustrated child or babe. It was quiet, almost helpless, and it was more than enough for Tobirama to ignore his instincts and trot towards whoever was making the noise.

It didn’t take long to find them. A group of shinobi with no discernible uniform nor clan symbols, mismatched enough to be mistaken for civilian bandits. They weren’t spread out like trained soldiers, scattered and in vulnerable clumps instead, only one actually watching the children they had all tied together.

_Children_. Tobirama’s lip curled, fangs showing in his disgust. Small children, several of them, all huddled in on each other with the same looks of helplessness on each of their little faces.

Faces that were _bruised_.

One of them was still crying, the rest only sitting and shaking. Though his eyesight had improved in a way after the accident, Tobirama couldn’t tell which clan the boy might belong to - not that it mattered. He was a child, crying and helpless and _terrified_. No name could keep Tobirama from helping him.

His size and lack of chakra was a hindrance, however, and he wasn’t used to this body enough to use its small size to his advantage. Which was a shame, really; being small enough to sneak under one’s guard had been a tried and true method of assassination for him back before his growth spurt hit in his teens and stole the strategy from him.

Sneaking about was still easy enough. He’d been walking silently since before he’d picked up his first weapon, and the dire nature of the situation helped urge on his care.

The underbrush was thick and dense around the clearing they’d gathered the children in, grass and roots rubbing against his soft underbelly. It was a small comfort to be so low to the ground, so out of sight despite how he must have contrasted so starkly with the shadows he crawled in - unbroken white was not a good camouflage in anything but snow, and winter was far off from falling on their country once more.

He stopped the moment one of the men moved. Hunkered down even lower, fighting back the urge to growl in warning. They weren’t moving towards him anyway, instead moving towards the children - the defenseless little ones, who could not have done anything in their short lives to deserve any of what had already happened to them.

“_Gods_, but this brat won’t _shut it_.” The man stalked over to loom over the still crying child, as if his overbearing presence wouldn’t make the boy’s fears any worse. “Keep it up, boy, and I’ll give you reason to cry.”

Tobirama jerked forward and only just caught himself, wanting nothing more than to launch himself at the man’s throat for threatening a _child_. All it would do was frighten the poor thing more, and worst of all something in his gut _knew_ the man was not bluffing.

There was so little he could do. With so many enemies about, with only his teeth and claws for weapons - weapons he had nowhere near enough knowledge or experience with to put to good use.

As expected, the boy sobbed harder. Shaking with the fear he couldn’t control, clutching a smaller girl close to him as he buried his nose into her hair. It didn’t muffle his cries enough, apparently, the man sneering down at the lot of the children, hand coming to rest on the weapon strapped to his side as Tobirama bared his teeth in the shadows.

He couldn’t let any harm befall the children. _Any more harm_. But what was he to do for them, in the state he was in? Hiss and spit at the men and women who had taken them? Hope one or all of them were allergic to cat dander?

Tobirama felt _useless_ as he watched the man lean over the children, the grin splitting the man’s face showing far too much teeth to be anything close to friendly.

“Think I won’t do it? Won’t cut out your tongue or run you through with my blade? Worthless little shit is what you are.”

“Don’t be killing that one, you idiot.” A woman spat at the man from across the camp, catching Tobirama’s attention as well. She had a curved blade propped up against her knee, a whetstone in hand as she sharpened its edge. “It’s anything but worthless, as long as it’s _alive_.”

‘_It_’? He wanted to sneer at the woman but couldn’t, only managing to show his fangs and wrinkle his nose in her direction. At least her interjection spared the boy some damage for the time being, staying the man’s hand from doing something Tobirama would make him regret.

The man clicked his tongue, cocking his head as he stared down at the children. As if they were nothing but dirt beneath him, nothing but _insects_ he wished to be rid of. But his hand moved away from his side, and he straightened up away from them, cursing low under his breath about how annoying the lot were to him.

This was good news. With the man starting to walk away, Tobirama had _time_. Precious time to think about what he could do for them, how he could get them away from these disgusting _rats_ passing as people.

Time that was very much short lived.

No sounds preceded the attack. Shinobi dropped on some of the men clustered at the edge of the make-shift camp, and more threw weapons from the shadows. Soon the air was filled with curses and hurled jutsu, metal singing as another group clashed with the kidnappers.

A group that might not have outnumbered them, but far outclassed them. Tobirama knew it, and the disgusting _rats_ did as well.

Cornered animals had far sharper teeth than those allowed to run and escape.

Tobirama’s gut filled with dread as the man who had been threatening the children rounded on them again, desperation and anger twisting the man’s face into a feral sneer. His weapon was drawn, the killing intent obvious even without the aid of chakra sensing, blade pointed and ready to cut down the little ones who’d barely been able to sprout into their own-

-and Tobirama was flinging himself out of the brush before thought had any part in it, vaulting over the children and aiming claws and teeth at the man’s throat.

They did not connect as they should have. His natural speed was hindered in this form, more easily spotted before he’d like himself to be, and he found himself tearing into the man’s raised arm instead. Blood gushed from the flesh he bit and clawed into, soaking into his fur as the man swore and tried in vain to sling him off, but if Tobirama couldn’t kill the man he was going to _maim_ his arm at the very least, render it useless and give the children a chance to escape.

An escape that wouldn’t wait for him.

The blade found his body instead of the children, piercing into his gut and making his jaw clench down harder from the shock of pain. His back paws struggled to find purchase on something, to push back or pull away or _anything_ that would stop it, but he failed. His eyesight dimmed. Limbs going limp as he dropped to the ground, panting around both the man’s blood and his own from where it fought its way out of his throat.

Here is where he would die. Felled by an unknown enemy, in a part of the forest so close to home he could almost be in Senju territory. Not even in his own body, left to soak into the earth and leave this small frame to be picked apart by fungi and scavengers until not even his remains would mark his grave.

The sounds of battle grew dim until they were nothing. A darker shadow passed over him and paused, something touching his side and making a scream tear out of his already broken body.

A voice. One he should recognize but couldn’t put a name to. The pain of being moved made all thoughts of trying to flee from him, darkness pulling him under until even the thoughts of the children - _the children, oh gods the children_ \- could no longer keep his mind from being still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter update**: September 6th  
<strike>yes I know that's a month away, the chapter's not finished yet</strike>


	2. Chapter 2

He was cold. Shivering, unable to stop himself, unable to even reach out to try and crawl somewhere warmer. A splitting pain in his side tried to remind him why that was but the pain in his head kept any thoughts on it at bay, the only certainly Tobirama had being that his body hurt, that the world was cold.

There was no way to process the passage of time. His shivering was never ending, whatever winter had descended upon his body unyielding, the pain clawing through his body keeping him on edge even in his unconscious state.

Voices. Garbled by the screaming nerves in his head, soft and rough all at once. Every once in a while something brushed against him - or at least he thought it a possibility, but even touch felt like a tunnel, like he was submerged and only feeling the ghost sensations of a lifetime ago.

Something was whimpering. An animal, a child, an injured small thing of some sort. He couldn’t pinpoint the location no matter how hard he tried; it sounded both close and far, its pitiful cries as unending as his own pain, as the chill threatening to break his bones.

Tobirama was cold. Tired. Hurt. Wanted it all to stop but wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure he could do anything but let the cold and pain sink in. A part of him cried out the same time the wounded animal cried aloud, wishing and wanting, pleading for the healing touch he’d grown up with that had so often saved him such misery.

Nothing but the ghost sensations of a hand running down his back came from his pleas, and he was left shivering, waiting, hurting, as the mewls of an injured animal continued on in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but adding anything else would have been a lie
> 
> **Next chapter update:** 10-4-19


	3. Chapter 3

Warmth had found its way back into him.

Tobirama was pressed against something hot. It helped the pain in a way, helped his shivering end though his body still vibrated. The pain had slowly dulled over time; how long he’d been frozen from it, he wasn’t sure, only knowing the passage of time remained a constant and that he was still alive despite not being able to witness it. Alive and had barely held on, still only just conscious, still finding it hard to even think let alone process what had happened and what was going on around him.

The warm thing could move. It did often: it picked him up and placed him down, it walked around while holding him, moved his limbs on occasion despite the pained whines that it always tore out of him. After some time he figured it must be a person, but he couldn’t bring his eyes to open and see who it might be.

He purred but was not content. Really, he had no idea why or how he was doing it. His knowledge of cats was limited, something Tobirama regretted though he had no reason to; there was little point in regretting not researching something that had no foreseeable benefit to him or his people. Cats were not that useful or threatening to his clan and therefore he would have had little purpose in putting information about them above other more pertinent and useful information, such as looking into his spy networks or jutsu creation or even physical training.

Still, knowing more about the body he’d found himself in would have been nice.

The person who carried him had a nice voice. Rich, warm, deep - it soothed him much like the purring did, much like being held against the warmth of his body did. Often Tobirama’s claws would knead into the man (it must have been a man; his scent said so just as much as his voice did, though how Tobirama could smell _gender_ was a bit beyond him) without his permission, the purring increasing in volume the more that rumbling voice spoke lowly to him.

It was odd to find comfort in someone he didn’t have a name for. To want them to be close, settling and untensing whenever he heard their voice near. Once consciousness stopped fighting him back, Tobirama was even able to feel more of the world around him, and he found that the man would often pet his fur while he held him close.

His eyes still refused to open, but Tobirama melted into the affection anyway. It wasn’t more pain and that was all that mattered to him at the moment. His body still ached, side screaming whenever he twitched the wrong way, but the man who held him close and kept him warm wasn’t the cause of any more and for that he was eternally grateful.

That was not the only good the man did for him. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tobirama became more aware of the world again. More aware of what was happening to him and around him. A wet fabric of sorts often touched his lips, his mouth moving without thought controlling it, instinct allowing him to drink whatever liquid the man was feeding him. Liquid eventually turned into a rather foul textured mush, though whenever Tobirama tried weakly to turn his head he found gentle fingers preventing the movement, that warm voice speaking softly as the food was put into his mouth anyway.

His injuries were checked often, washed gently if the wetness was anything to go by. Whenever he was placed down it was always on something soft, and the same man always came back for him, always returned to help him eat or redress his wounds - or even help him use the bathroom, much to his absolute horror.

It was all kindness that the man didn’t owe him. All necessities for his continued survival, but Tobirama did not know this man, had no name or recollection of ever doing a kindness for him before. Not that the man would recognize him even if he had, with his normal body gone and his chakra nonexistent to even get a sense of who he might have been.

Such acts of kindness were not common in his world. The world of violence and war, of shinobi being tactful of their every move and action to gain the most benefit for their own person or clan. Even Hashirama had ulterior motives with almost everything he said or did despite his honest nature, though Tobirama knew at least he’d take care of anyone he came across no matter their name or lineage (something that absolutely _haunted_ him on the best of days and made him want to stalk the man everywhere on his worst).

But this man, this warm stranger with his calming tones and his gentle hands, could not have any possible reason to take care of a wounded animal. No possible benefit to gain from bringing a cat back from death’s door. It unsettled Tobirama just the same as it warmed him, knowing that someone could aid him without having a purpose behind it. What was he supposed to do with this information? Could he do anything with it at all?

There were times when the man was not alone, of course. A second voice, one that had a sharper edge to it despite its drawl, often stayed near them. This one niggled at his brain as if familiar, the ghost of an image toying with the edges of his mind, but whenever Tobirama tried to catch it the image fled.

He couldn’t quite focus on their words. Could never make out what was said, only catching the tones, all understanding of language leaving him with how weak his body still was. It bothered him as much as anything could bother him at the moment: only peripherally, only until unconsciousness took him again as his body desperately tried to sleep away the hurt and mend.

Tobirama hoped as much as he consciously could that he would mend soon. But most of all he just sought comfort in the warmth, in the low tones of the man who cared for him, and slipped into the dreamless state that was now mostly his existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter Update:** 11-1-19


End file.
